on a pond. They passed the last houses, and were between
the open fields,
Mr. Munn raised his head to scan the sky. " It's funny," he
said, " but in town, you know, you don't notice much what
the weather's like."
"There're a lot of things you don't notice in town," she
He continued to look at the sky, which showed no sun, and
at the lead-coloured horizon. " What?" he asked.
" Oh," she answered, " yourself, for instance."
"Yourself?" He looked directly at her, but she did not
meet his gaze.
" Yes, yourself." She looked up the road, over the horse's
head. Then she continued: " Yes, when I was in St. Louis,
all that time, I didn't know a bit what I was like, really. I
never noticed myself. I did things, and I never knew why."
"Not often, any place, a man's too sure why he's doing
something/' Mr. Munn said. Then: " Not often, but some-
times, by God."
" I never was," she told him, " before."
" Are you now?"
"Surer," she replied. "Now."
They fell silent for a few minutes, looking at the fields and
the distant woods. Then she asked, " Are you?"
"Am I what?" He knew what she meant, but like a man
who plays for time, he parried the question.
"Sure," she said.
" Not always."
" I thought you were, always."
"Why?" he demanded.
She paused, then went on: "Because you look that way.
The way you move. The way you say something. You say it
like you were sure. And what you've done."
"Whathave I done?"
She continued to look up the road. " Oh, nothing, that is,
not any one thing," she replied, "not any one thing. Just
everything sort of taken together, you know."